in the spotlight
there is a small restaurant nestled between 2 recruiting store fronts, nestled deep in an innocuous shopping center on convoy, with nothing more than some plastic lawn chairs out front under the neon Open sign. the windows are covered with a heavy woven sheet, the yellowed menu is scotch-taped to the front door. the inside is merely as unimpressive as the outside, and for a moment, we hesitate in the doorway, not sure where to cast our eyes. we're by far the whitest people in the room, though there are a couple of other "gaijin" at a table in front of us. awkward gestures with someone in an apron got us to sit down at the nearest table, the one brushing our hip as we stand in the entrance. t looks at me, waiting, and i feel my face go red. the waitress brings over menus, and for a moment, i'm relieved. broken as it is, i see english in front of me... maybe this won't be so bad. we order water and start to look over the menu, with the occassional suggestion tumbling from our mouths. a few shy glances at the waitress lets her know to come over, and suddenly, i'm on...
"sumimasen..."
i manage to order some food and rally a ball of english and japanese with the waitress over the sake selection. as the service starts, i relax, though i still flush deeply everytime i have to switch over to j-language. but it was all worth it, and i'm proud of t for finally hunting down the mysterious legend of a restaurant. besides, it's a fantastic oishii motivation to get back on the j-kick for a while :)
current mood: that chuutoro was like buttah'